


Everything else

by hannibalnuxvoxmica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Also works as a standalone, And want to read this as it's natural follow up, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sex, Tenderness, Unless you read my previous fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-17 22:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalnuxvoxmica/pseuds/hannibalnuxvoxmica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>His head falls into the crook of Will’s neck, face burning scarlet. Every part of him screams out in pleasure, a pressure building in his abdomen as Will’s hand twists and pulls.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>If they had taken time to speak, to divulge truthfully, Hannibal wonders if they could have gotten here so long ago.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything else

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and Welcome!
> 
> You can read this either as a standalone, or as a follow up to my previous fic, [which you can find here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7270942), if you enjoyed that one!
> 
> Not beta'd, mistakes are my own. I really hope you enjoy!

They move tangled together. Bumping limbs and bodies, holding the other steady as they begin to trip. Hannibal’s bedroom is closest, and in the mess of movement one of them, maybe both, pulls the other toward it. Stumbling through the doorway, Will’s fingers pull at the buttons on Hannibal’s collar, down his chest and belly, revealing warmed, reddened skin beneath his fingertips. What little space remains between them is filled with panted breathes and laughs bared against each other.

They go slowly, neither in a rush. Hannibal slips Will’s sweater off over his head, letting it fall from his hand and onto the floor. A heap of fabric not to be retrieved until the morning. His arms snare around Will’s waist, pulling close. Close enough that when he plants his lips against the crook of Will’s neck he feels him moan against him, his body vibrating.

Will’s fingers roam down the length of his torso, curious, stopping when they reach a patch of skin only newly healed. Scar and scar tissue significantly smoother than the surrounding skin.

“Does this still hurt?” Will asks him, his fingers barely touching as they skim the surface.

Hannibal had bled from here. Hannibal had been shot. In his dreams before regaining consciousness, Will had tricked himself into believing that only _he_ had washed up on that long stretch of beach. That he had so stupidly and carelessly damned himself to a life in which he was irrevocably alone. The same life he had had before Hannibal. Before all of it.

Hannibal strokes the side of Will’s face, over the scruff that he has always known him to have, that he loves, and beneath it the scar that tells of a battle won, and won together.

“Not anymore.” Hannibal whispers before kissing him. Will dips his hands lower as he does, barely even at all, his fingers snaring around the opening of his pants. Hannibal’s heart quickens and threatens to leap from his throat. His erection swells and aches beneath Will’s fingertips, and a helpless noise, broken free from some caged part of him, escapes his lips.

They fall onto the bed. Hannibal makes quick work of his jeans and tosses them aside. He pulls their bodies flush, moaning as Will gasps small and soundless. He kisses him, working his way down as his mouth explores ardently. Taking in the taste and the softness and heat of Will’s skin as he squirms and writhes beneath him. As his stomach and chest heave with heavy breaths.

He kisses his scar. Where he cut him. Marked him. And when he does, it is with such sincerity that Will feels it as an ache in his chest. A tortuous knot of emotion all unraveling at once.

Never again.

Never again will they hiss and show fangs. Bear their teeth to one another. Disguise their fears and vulnerabilities beneath threats and the promise of follow through. If they had taken time to speak, to divulge truthfully, Hannibal wonders if they could have gotten here so long ago.

He releases his grip of Will’s hips, and slips his fingers up and over, under the elastic he finds there and tugs down, exposing him to the open air. Hannibal grasps the length of his thickening cock, stroking it, and as he does Will bucks into his hand and arches, moaning as he fists the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. Will tangles his hand in Hannibal’s hair and pushes his other between their bodies as they rock together, his hand wrapping tight and hot against Hannibal’s thick, protruding cock.

Hannibal nearly comes from the sensation of it.

His head falls into the crook of Will’s neck, face burning scarlet. Every part of him screams out in pleasure, a pressure building in his abdomen as Will’s hand twists and pulls, gentle but determined strokes that Hannibal can feel in his toes.

Will behests him in moans and in words that tangle on his tongue as he melts more than he thought possible. Sex has always been a dual experience for Will, his empathy making it possible for him to feel what the other person does. This is precisely what made one-night stands and casual encounters always such a terrible experience for him, because while their pleasure and peaks would reflect onto him, as would their insecurities and distractions, and the awkwardness and regret that followed after.

But here, mind overloaded and long turned to static, his thoughts are not a jumble of mismatching pieces and feelings that he is forced to juggle with, but a state of bliss where _everything_ _feels exactly as it should,_ and he cares for nothing other than Hannibal and the steady rhythm at which they are thrusting while their voices only grow louder. Hannibal circles the head of Will’s cock with his thumb, glistening pearlescent. He squeezes and moves just slightly _more_ as Will nears his finish. Until it’s all suddenly too much.

He comes, bending into Hannibal, unfurling divine beneath him as his orgasm rips through him, his chest and belly splattered in clear white. Hannibal collapses atop Will as he lays breathless, spurred into his own orgasm unexpectedly as Will achieved his.

Hannibal waits to regain strength, and rolls off and to the side, staying pressed against him. They are sticky and shaky. They are somewhere pressed against the edge of their consciousness. Hannibal holds him, and covers the side of his face, his neck, his collar bone and shoulder in kisses, small and unbearably loving.

“We should wash,” Hannibal says softly, “or we might regret it.”

Will turns his head and smiles weakly, huffing a laugh.

“I don’t think I can walk.”

Hannibal grins and nuzzles against him. “Then I’ll do it for you.”

Hannibal does, and when finished he lies back down beside him, finding it so unconscionable to be apart. Unthinkable. Hannibal watches as Will drifts, gently falling asleep in his arms. The sound of his breath, his heartbeat, the way he curls and shifts and sighs sweetly as Hannibal wraps himself around him, are each preciously stashed away in the most sacred part of him. Immortalized in the chapel within his breast that is filled entirely of Will.

And then, slowly, pulled beneath by fatigue, Hannibal sleeps, too. An entirely new type of morning awaiting him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This is actually my first time writing smut or anything explicit, so let me know what you thought in the comments!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hannibalnuxvomica) Come hang out!


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